ickly that my camp-chair tipped
against Celia and knocked her over so that she might have fallen off the
platform if there had not been a railing around it. That catastrophe
created such a flurry of anxieties, apologies, and so forth, that I
succeeded in letting the crisis slip past unmolested. At least, that
first crisis did. The second crisis arrived a little later when the voice
behind us rang out again with, "Second call to supper in the dining-car."
I glanced sidewise at Celia just in time to catch her glancing sidewise
at me. That made me spring lightly to my feet, I can tell you. Was she
getting suspicious? Was she too courteous to suggest an extravagance the
refusal of which might hurt my pride? Was she wondering why I seemed to
have forgotten that I was starving to death, if not already starved?

So I said in a tone of patient consideration, "Shall we wait any longer,
Miss Lane?" She jumped up like a flash, and her face was quite red.

"No, indeed! Not on my account certainly." She emphasized the my so
distinctly that I was sure she suspected. That dreadful thought caused me
to stiffen my manner, and as hers had been strangely stiff all the
afternoon, we were awfully polite to each other during supper. Each of us
insisted upon paying the bill and feeing the waiter. It was terrible. I
couldn't afford to pay it all, and yet I was too silly to give in
gracefully, especially as some other passengers were listening, and the
waiter hovered near. Finally it resulted in his receiving twice the sum,
half for the bill, and half for a fee. I hope he appreciated it.

Then we talked politely to each other for an hour or two before going to
bed. And in the morning, there was the problem of breakfast confronting
me.

The problem woke me early. Being poor is bad for the health as well as
bad for the character, I think. Probably it is bad for the soul also. Or
maybe it is not the poverty so much as being ashamed of it that perverts
a person's life. Well, actually I almost cherished the deceitful plot of
getting up so early that I should be already dressed before Celia would
appear, and then I could tell her that I had been so hungry that I had
eaten my breakfast alone. It would have been true too, because I intended
to nibble my malted milk tablets behind a magazine. But this plan came to
naught; for when I poked my head out between the curtains I saw Celia
herself staggering toward the dressing-room with her satchel. Thereup